To Bris or Not To Bris?

The last few months of my pregnancy, I spent more time agonizing about the bris than about labor itself.

From the outset, I knew I was carrying a boy. I can’t quite explain how, whether it was maternal instinct, woman’s intuition or just a wild guess. But when the sonogram confirmed this fact during my 20th week of pregnancy, I smiled one of those smiles that engulfs the entire face, a grin with its own zipcode, the look I’d later come to realize of a mother proven right.

My husband and I celebrated for the duration of the doctor’s visit, scrutinizing every millimeter of the grainy black and white photos they give you nowadays after a sonogram, searching for clues as to our unborn son’s athletic ability and intellect, his looks and charm, between the blurry pixels.

It was all very special and warm, charmed even. And it stayed that way for a good few hours, until I made my way back to the office (I’m a magazine editor) and shared the news with the first colleague I saw. “Are you guys going to do that circumcision thing?” she asked, eyes as wide as half dollars.

The question threw me, and I fumbled for words. Not because I wasn’t sure. I’d grown up Orthodox and married a secular Israeli. We are what I like to call "big picture Jews" – observant of what we consider the boldface, Jew-defining covenants. While we aren’t paragons of religious virtue, the bris was as much a foregone conclusion as, say, fasting on Yom Kippur.

Still, the tone of my coworker’s question unnerved me, as if between the lines there whispered some suggestion that my husband and I would be turning over our wrinkly little newborn to a feather-wearing shaman armed with a utility knife. I couldn’t tell if she thought the whole thing was kooky and cultish, but instantly I wished I’d just kept my mouth shut. Yet there it was, demanding an answer. “Yes, we’re doing that,” I told her through pursed lips. I was both embarrassed and defensive, and later, mostly worried. What if she expected an invitation?

For the remaining five months of my pregnancy I spent more time agonizing about the bris than about labor itself. I know that sounds horribly shallow, and to some extent it is. But the fact of the matter is that for a career minded, professional woman like myself, offices are cauldrons of judgment, where bosses and coworkers scrutinize everything from what you wear to what you order for lunch. (A burger and fries? Really?) Is it any wonder, then, that I was anxious about how they’d perceive my son’s bris, a party where the guest of honor, barely a week old, has his member sliced, only to be followed by a bagel-and-lox brunch? In political parlance, the optics aren’t very good.

There were other concerns, too. I knew of friends who had surgeons conduct their sons’ circumcisions in the privacy – and peroxide-scented sterility – of an operating room. They prized not just the cleanliness of the hospital, but also the peace of mind only possible, they said, with a board certified physician conducting the intimate procedure. For years I’d dismissed the concept of a hospital bris as a heresy on par with a pastrami-and-bacon on rye. But now that it was my own son whose pink little body would go under the knife, the idea didn’t seem so crazy.

I kicked around the notion in my head for a few days, visualizing myself watching the bris while wearing a blue hospital gown, a mask tied around my face. I imagined the surgeon clutching his scalpel, and my husband holding our baby aloft in his rubber gloved hands. But even in my imagination, where I could tinker with all the variables, the whole scenario seemed strangely devoid of Jewish character, as much an outpatient procedure as lancing a boil. It had no soul. And so I scrapped the idea.

I wanted a mohel who could bridge the different worlds and bring sanctity to the day.

I once had an editor, in a fit of frustration, tell me, “Dammit, you’re a demanding broad.” He’d have torn his hair out had he seen the list of criteria I devised for finding the right mohel. I needed someone who understood my particularly unique circumstances: an Orthodox extended family, a husband largely unfamiliar with a siddur, and a guest list that might include a number of people who’s sole point of reference for a bris was a Seinfeld episode; he also needed to be an expert, ideally trained at Harvard Medical School before having an epiphany about becoming a mohel (hey, a girl can dream).

I wanted a humane, capable mohel who could bridge the different worlds I inhabited and still bring a measure of grace and sanctity to the day. Needless to say, none of these qualifications came up in a Google search.

So I started asking around, soliciting recommendations. The hunt began to take on Goldilocks overtones – this mohel was too religious, that mohel wasn’t religious enough. Finally a journalist friend of mine referred me to Rabbi Moshe Chaim Friedman. “He’s the mohel to the media. We all use him,” she said with brisk efficiency, referring me his website, www.NYMohel.com. After some investigating, I learned that Rabbi Friedman has earned recommendations from the chairman of the Department of Surgery at NYU School of Medicine, in addition to Columbia’s Director of Minimally Invasive Urology. “Popular for his calming, upbeat presence,” wrote New York Magazine a couple years back on its short list of recommended mohels. Impressive, I thought.

In retrospect, I think there’s another reason that people in my business tend to gravitate to Rabbi Friedman. We are practiced skeptics, trained to snuff out phonies. And he just doesn’t trip the alarm bells in that way. My initial conversation with the rabbi was – how shall I say this so I don’t sound completely nuts? – lovely. Genuinely curious about my background, he peppered me with questions about my grandparents and my upbringing, and seemed utterly fascinated by my husband’s lineage – on one side, Bulgarian merchants, on the other, ninth generation sabras. Then he methodically reviewed his experience, his reverence and love for his job.

Maybe it was the pregnancy hormones, or maybe I just sensed that this rabbi understood me, but halfway through our call, I unloaded all my pent-up anxieties about the day, especially with regard to how it would look to my colleagues. I rambled, I whimpered, I probably even teared up. Rabbi Friedman listened intently, wordlessly, until I finished. “Mrs. Goldman,” he said gently. “Mrs. Goldman, I promise you, none of those things will matter.”

I wish I could recall exactly what he said to convince me, but most of my memories from those final weeks of pregnancy are washed out and hazy. All I remember was hanging up the phone and feeling relieved, like I’d finally set down the heavy load I’d been carrying for months. Really nothing else mattered much except being emotionally and spiritually available to my son. The rest was, as Rabbi Friedman might say, narishkeit.

My son’s bris was held on an unseasonably warm Sunday in April at the JCC in Manhattan. Rabbi Friedman arrived before we did. He was patient, even as several of my relatives trickled in late, putting a crimp in a day that would see him perform three back-to-back circumcisions. The ceremony was dignified and inclusive – Rabbi Friedman gave my guests (many of them colleagues and gentile friends) clear, engaging explanations for the various steps of a bris. He even calmed my father, who despite this being his sixth grandson, was himself a bundle of nerves as he held my baby on a silken white pillow. As Rabbi Friedman concluded, my husband looked up at me in awe and mouthed the words ‘thank you’.

“That was one of the most moving services I’ve ever attended,” said a non-Jewish friend.

Call me naïve, but I believe that many misgivings about the tradition (several, frankly, my own) were resolved that day. Afterwards, our loved ones surrounded us, some with red, damp eyes. “That was one of the most moving services I’ve ever attended,” said a non-Jewish news producer friend. (High praise coming from a man who covered the coronation of the Pope.) My colleague who months before asked about “that circumcision thing” grabbed my hands and squeezed them tight. “I feel so honored to have been part of this,” she told me, beaming.

Over brunch, my husband announced the name of our beautiful little boy – Oz Amichai, Hebrew for ‘the courage of my people lives.’ I surveyed the room, the rapt attention our guests gave him, a sea of smiles. A soft, inviting glow enveloped us all, and even afterwards it felt like nobody wanted to go.

Visitor Comments: 22

(19)
Anonymous,
October 18, 2012 1:24 PM

Feels like a family member that happens to be a mohel..

Reading this article is inspiring after hearing all the garbage in the media anti-circumcision. The truth is, if not done by the right person, the whole Brit Milah thing is extremely scary. But for my family, we used Rabbi Daniel Rubenstein, and by the time he left our house we felt like he was a new member of our family. He was extremely professional, and "Surgeon-like" (I am a surgeon, so I know) in his skills, yet he treated us like family and we came to see him as that. We still invite him to family engagements, weddings, etc...

(18)
Barbra K.,
September 8, 2011 8:24 PM

Rabbi Friedman is a walking Kiddush Hashem. On a day to day basis he deals with Jewish families, many who are not yet religious, who need the support and encouragement to go through with the traditional Bris. He has a G-d given talent and true passion for what he does. He is a rising star with a strong and diverse loyal following particularly among the new age – hip- professional and sophisticated parents who get to him through strong passionate word of mouth recommendations. Yes - I am one of these parents that are amongst his "great fans." I have attended many Jewish Bris ceremonies over the years - but can tell you unequivocally that I have never seen a mohel like Rabbi Friedman. He is awesome! He is the neatest, cleanest, most organized professional I have ever seen. Many of my Jewish friends (through my recommendation) who have used him for their sons' circumcision cannot stop raving about him. I am also aware that with many families, Rabbi Friedman has developed a strong continued friendship that extends for years after the bris.

(17)
Linda Rothenstein,
September 8, 2011 4:33 PM

I almost cried!

Lea Goldman hit the nail on the head in addressing the fear that secular Jewish people have about the brit ceremony in that it may damage them socially. What a beautifully written article!! It nearly brought me to tears... When I gave birth to our son, we too felt very apprehensive and my entire extended family (mostly my mom) were very skeptical and were against the whole idea. Our Chabad rabbi was adamant and insisted that we contact Rabbi Moshe Chaim Friedman. “There are many great moyels but if there is anyone can handle your specific situation - he is the one - because he is "the master" that specializes in these exact delicate situations. Your family and guests will love him, you will see..." And how right he was! My husband and Rabbi Friedman (both type A personalities) clicked so well that they even set a time to study Torah together over the phone for 20 minutes a week. Rabbi Friedman even encouraged us to spend time on aish.com which we always do (and came across this article!) All this has left a strong impact and true blessing on our family. I am due with my second son in December and my mom (who was against the brit in the first place) reminded me to call and reserve Rabbi Friedman for the sequel.

My first son came to us just last year and while I didn't have any doubts about whether to circumsize I have recieved occasional misguided critism after the fact. In one case a total stranger was downright hostile! He overheard me mention something about my son's circumcision to another woman in my mother's group (we meet in a public place) and immidiately began muttering about how I "should have left him alone." It was very awkward being judged by someone who had no clue why I had chosen to circumcize my son (it could have been medically necessary for all he knew).
Needless to say, I'm not sorry that we had a bris (in a home, not a hospital) with family present. Best wishes to your family and congratulations Lea Goldman!

(14)
David,
September 7, 2011 2:04 AM

It's a convenant not a tradition!

It's a convenant not a tradition! The very idea of Jews questioning this commandment always makes me despair. How far have fallen?

G21,
September 7, 2011 6:40 PM

Jews Are Questioning It Just Like They Question Every Other Mitzvah With No Explanation

Thats the problem - its much, much harder to observe Mitzvot where there is no rational explanation, and no particular benefit that the human eye can see and/or measure. Yes, its true that circumcision is proven to be healthier, scientifically, but that is not the reason why we observe it. When one's faith in G-D is diminished, the mitzvot with no rational explanations are the first to go (See Also, Kashrut in this category)

(13)
Kathy,
September 6, 2011 5:38 PM

An inspiring rabbi indeed...

I too, like this author, had serious doubts about the bris, particularly because of all the anti-circumcision negative media hype these days. In fact, my husband insisted that a doctor to perform it. I was seven months pregnant when we attended a bris at a friends apartment in Manhattan's Upper East Side.. There were about 30 people there and Rabbi Friedman officiated. I must say that all the guests in attendance were literally "mesmerized" by what we saw and experienced at that bris. We had all anticipated doom and gloom, a screeching hollering baby, etc. but we experienced the total opposite. Rabbi Friedman's natural charm and wit (he is hilarious) worked wonders in putting the parents, family and guests at ease by elevating the ceremony from a simple surgical procedure, to one of the richest, most special traditional and spiritual fulfillment of G-d's mitzvot. The Rabbi's aura of calm and confidence was contageous. His medical professionalism, performing the bris in five seconds flat (the baby barely made a peep) - left us all spellbound. This impressed my husband so much and at that point, admitted to me that custom can be fulfilled in the traditional manner without compromising the procedure from a medical standpoint. "This is the kind of Rabbi I would love for my son" he said. After the bris, we approached Rabbi Friedman and reserved him on the spot for the bris of our son. It's over a year since, and my husband and I are both indebted to Rabbi Friedman for inspiring us to correctly perform the tradition and bring blessing to our son through the Covenant of Abraham. We have referred the Rabbi to many of our friends - and we keep getting great feedback and thanks for the referral.

(12)
Benjamin,
September 6, 2011 1:39 PM

Tradional Bris the way to go!

My wife and I had a baby boy back in February. Now while he was an early arrival and we had to wait a few months before he was healthy enough for his bris, we went the route of a traditional mohel from Chabad. He was recommended by many people here in the greater Boston area and did a superb job. Now, keep in mind, my wife and I are not Chabadnicks, nor are we orthodox. We are Jews who value tradition and ritual done correctly.

(11)
Anonymous,
September 5, 2011 10:51 PM

thank you for sharing

I knew any boy I had would have a bris, but it didn't make it any easier....the harder things are the more we appreciate them.

(10)
Leslie,
September 5, 2011 7:41 PM

Thanks, a beautiful and amazing article.

Thanks, a beautiful and amazing article.

(9)
Anonymous,
September 5, 2011 1:35 PM

Circumcision

I cannot believe that this lady even hesitated about giving her son a bris! As much as I hated the thought myself and certainly for my two grandsons I had stomach-ache for days previous to the ceremony, it is part of our heritage, a heritage to be proud of! As for her colleagues, I would not have even been ashamed to stand up for my religion and say to them that this is our heritage and who are you question me?

(8)
Shlomo,
September 5, 2011 12:55 AM

Heart Warming

What a beautiful article. We used Rabbi Friedman for our son as well. And I echo everything Ms. Goldman feels about Rabbi Friedman. What a Mentch!! With Rabbi Friedman as the Mohel there's definitely no question whether to bris or not to bris. It is simple, Bris Bris Bris. The tradition is upheld, the experience is wonderful, and the healing process is swift and expedited. Kol Hakavod and Mazal tov on the birth of Oz Amichai.

(7)
Sander Postol,
September 4, 2011 10:58 PM

Thank you!

The Bris is under fire by various silly "rights" groups. We have a right to defend out tradition.

Anonymous,
September 6, 2011 2:37 PM

Bris

I tend to agree with you wholeheartedly.

anon,
September 6, 2011 4:30 PM

yes it's under attack

(this is not from the religious perspective, from which we have no question of its importance ) it's just been bothering me this week: and one of the arguments is that, at one time there was thought to be medical value, but that value was now seen as far less compelling; so, this week, there was an article that the CDC is wondering why it has diminished, since it is SO valuable - according to verified clinical studies - to protect from all sorts of transmission of HIV, and other STDs; So, why don't they shout that from the roof tops, when organizations tried to ban it? and on a regular basis; stepping down from soap box now,

(6)
Anonymous,
September 4, 2011 9:13 PM

Puhleeeeaze! This aricle fits more in Jerusalem Post than Aish

You grew up orthodox?? Taken aback by the archaic question of 'should MY son have a brit'? I on the other hand grew up in a communist family, completely atheistic and never entered my mind to question giving a brit to my son. I suppose the pride in being Jewish had something to do with it and in the end brought me back to do teshuva. But hey, I'm not from the me, me, me generation, just missed it by a few years.

(5)
Menachem,
September 4, 2011 4:58 PM

It's a small world!

Wow! Nice to read about Rabbi Friedman, I used him as a mohel for my son too. One thing the article didn't touch on but I can (as I had other boys and used other mohels too, so I can compare), is that my baby healed super quickly (24 hours!), and the pediatrician raved about the results. I know this article is pointing out something deeper, which I appreciate, but I want to mention how superb his work is from a clinical prospective as well...

I'm told that it's a mitzvah to become intoxicated on Purim. This puzzles me, because to my understanding, it is not considered a good thing to become intoxicated, period.

One of the characteristics of the at-risk youth is their use of drugs, including alcohol. In my experience, getting drunk doesn't reveal secrets. It makes people act stupid and irresponsible, doing things they would never do if they were sober. Also, I know a lot about the horrible health effects of abusing alcohol, because I work at a research center that focuses on addiction and substance abuse.

Also, I am an alcoholic, which means that if I drink, very bad things happen. I have not had a drink in 22 years, and I have no intention of starting now. Surely there must be instances where a person is excused from the obligation to drink. I don't see how Judaism could ever promote the idea of getting drunk. It just doesn't seem right.

The Aish Rabbi Replies:

Putting aside for a moment all the spiritual and philosophical reasons for getting drunk on Purim, this remains an issue of common sense. Of course, teenagers should be warned of the dangers of acute alcohol ingestion. Of course, nobody should drink and drive. Of course, nobody should become so drunk to the point of negligence in performing mitzvot. And of course, a recovering alcoholic should not partake of alcohol on Purim.

Indeed, the Code of Jewish Law explicitly says that if one suspects the drinking may affect him negatively, then he should NOT drink.

Getting drunk on Purim is actually one of the most difficult mitzvot to do correctly. A person should only drink if it will lead to positive spiritual results - e.g. under the loosening affect of the alcohol, greater awareness will surface of the love for God and Torah found deep in the heart. (Perhaps if we were on a higher spiritual level, we wouldn't need to get drunk!)

Yet the Talmud still speaks of an obligation on Purim of "not knowing the difference between Blessed is Mordechai and Cursed is Haman." How then should a person who doesn't drink get the point of “not knowing”? Simple - just go to sleep! (Rama - OC 695:2)

All this applies to individuals. But the question remains - does drinking on Purim adversely affect the collective social health of the Jewish community?

The aversion to alcoholism is engrained into Jewish consciousness from a number of Biblical and Talmudic sources. There are the rebuking words of prophets - Isaiah 28:1, Hosea 3:1 with Rashi, and Amos 6:6, and the Zohar says that "The wicked stray after wine" (Midrash Ne'alam Parshat Vayera).

It is well known that the rate of alcoholism among Jews has historically been very low. Numerous medical, psychological and sociological studies have confirmed this. The connection between Judaism and sobriety is so evident, that the following conversation is reported by Lawrence Kelemen in "Permission to Receive":

When Dr. Mark Keller, editor of the Quarterly Journal of Studies on Alcohol, commented that "practically all Jews do drink, and yet all the world knows that Jews hardly ever become alcoholics," his colleague, Dr. Howard Haggard, director of Yale's Laboratory of Applied Physiology, jokingly proposed converting alcoholics to the Jewish religion in order to immerse them in a culture with healthy attitudes toward drinking!

Perhaps we could suggest that it is precisely because of the use of alcohol in traditional ceremonies (Kiddush, Bris, Purim, etc.), that Jews experience such low rates of alcoholism. This ceremonial usage may actually act like an inoculation - i.e. injecting a safe amount that keeps the disease away.

Of course, as we said earlier, all this needs to be monitored with good common sense. Yet in my personal experience - having been in the company of Torah scholars who were totally drunk on Purim - they acted with extreme gentleness and joy. Amid the Jewish songs and beautiful words of Torah, every year the event is, for me, very special.

Adar 12 marks the dedication of Herod's renovations on the second Holy Temple in Jerusalem in 11 BCE. Herod was king of Judea in the first century BCE who constructed grand projects like the fortresses at Masada and Herodium, the city of Caesarea, and fortifications around the old city of Jerusalem. The most ambitious of Herod's projects was the re-building of the Temple, which was in disrepair after standing over 300 years. Herod's renovations included a huge man-made platform that remains today the largest man-made platform in the world. It took 10,000 men 10 years just to build the retaining walls around the Temple Mount; the Western Wall that we know today is part of that retaining wall. The Temple itself was a phenomenal site, covered in gold and marble. As the Talmud says, "He who has not seen Herod's building, has never in his life seen a truly grand building."

Some people gauge the value of themselves by what they own. But in reality, the entire concept of ownership of possessions is based on an illusion. When you obtain a material object, it does not become part of you. Ownership is merely your right to use specific objects whenever you wish.

How unfortunate is the person who has an ambition to cleave to something impossible to cleave to! Such a person will not obtain what he desires and will experience suffering.

Fortunate is the person whose ambition it is to acquire personal growth that is independent of external factors. Such a person will lead a happy and rewarding life.

With exercising patience you could have saved yourself 400 zuzim (Berachos 20a).

This Talmudic proverb arose from a case where someone was fined 400 zuzim because he acted in undue haste and insulted some one.

I was once pulling into a parking lot. Since I was a bit late for an important appointment, I was terribly annoyed that the lead car in the procession was creeping at a snail's pace. The driver immediately in front of me was showing his impatience by sounding his horn. In my aggravation, I wanted to join him, but I saw no real purpose in adding to the cacophony.

When the lead driver finally pulled into a parking space, I saw a wheelchair symbol on his rear license plate. He was handicapped and was obviously in need of the nearest parking space. I felt bad that I had harbored such hostile feelings about him, but was gratified that I had not sounded my horn, because then I would really have felt guilty for my lack of consideration.

This incident has helped me to delay my reactions to other frustrating situations until I have more time to evaluate all the circumstances. My motives do not stem from lofty principles, but from my desire to avoid having to feel guilt and remorse for having been foolish or inconsiderate.

Today I shall...

try to withhold impulsive reaction, bearing in mind that a hasty act performed without full knowledge of all the circumstances may cause me much distress.

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